


Arrival of the Stranger

by zephrene



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: AU, Gen, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephrene/pseuds/zephrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for camelot_fics on LJ, theme: "Dreams".  the challenges: write a non-canon era AU; mention children or childhood; have a minor character as the protagonist.<br/>Sheriff Gorlois, the day the new man arrives in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrival of the Stranger

In the dark before dawn, Gorlois slung his gun belt low across his hips and reached for the long coat hanging on the hook at the foot of the stairs. He tried to be quiet as he shrugged into the comfortably worn leather and fixed his badge to the breast, not wanting to wake the whole household, but before he could take a step toward the door he heard footsteps on the landing.

“Papa?” seven-year-old Morgana asked, barefoot in her long white nightgown, illuminated by the oil lamp she held up before her. Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and her hair hung in tangled curls around her face.

Gorlois took the stairs two at a time until he could kneel next to his youngest daughter. “What are you doing up, little one?”

Morgana sniffled and looked at the floor. “I had a bad dream,” she said, and her hand holding the lamp trembled.

Gorlois smoothed her hair back and cradled her pale cheek in his palm. His hand was dark and rough against her skin, and he marveled once more that such beauty could be his own blood. “Another dream? Is that all?” He laughed quietly, and she pouted. “Don’t worry your head about dreams, now. All’s well.”

“There was a strange man, Papa,” Morgana insisted. “A man with black hair and yellow eyes. He changes everything.”

“Well, I’ll be on the look out, don’t you worry. Now back to bed with you.” He pressed a kiss to her brow, and turned to go down the steps again.

He felt her eyes on him as he left the house, but he did not turn back. She was a fey child, his Morgana, and her dreaming had only gotten worse since her mother died. He should remarry, send back east for a nice young thing to take over the raising of his three girls, and keep house for him better than the shrew he paid to do so now.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who could do with a new wife, either. Gorlois would surely see the Mayor today, about some problem or the other. Uther was a controlling bastard, after all, and determined to clear out every trace of the Sorcere gang from the area. Not a day went by when the old man didn’t call Gorlois or his deputies to the big house at the end of Second Street, to lay out a new plan of attack for the canyon stronghold of the outlaws, or to give them news from the county seat, where plenty of Sorcere lackeys had gone to hang.

Vivienne had liked Uther, pitied him after his wife died, even as she scorned Igraine for being too weak and sickly to survive childbirth in these wild lands. Vivienne had never suggested Uther find a new wife, though she had certainly browbeaten plenty of deputies and farm hands into matrimony, claiming she needed more women around to civilize the place. It had been years, though, since Igraine had died, and almost a year since Vivienne had gotten herself shot on the street by a trigger-happy Sorcere brother deep in the gin.

Yes, perhaps the time was right to send off for women again. Morgana would need civilizing, and Morgause and Elaine dowering soon enough.

As Gorlois walked the two streets that made up the town, heading for the Jailhouse, he spoke to only two other souls. Hattie, the slave girl who looked after Uther’s boy, bobbed her head in recognition as she carried fresh milk to the mayor’s house.

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” she said, looking down as she passed.

“Morning, Hattie,” Gorlois replied. “Tell your master I’d like a word today, would you?”

“Yes, sir, Sheriff, sir,” she said, and that was that.

It was a normal morning, up until then, for Gorlois, nodding a greeting to those up early for errands or chores, watching the dawn slowly illuminate the town. Then he met a stranger as he turned onto Main Street. The new man did not have the look of a Sorcere brother, being young and tall and neatly dressed in an expensive eastern style suit. He carried a fine ivory-handled pistol at his hip, and a leather satchel in his left hand. Under his hat, his hair and sideburns were the color of coal.

When the man saw his badge, he stopped Gorlois. “Excuse me, Sheriff. I’ve just left the stage. Can you direct me to Mayor Pendragon’s house?”

Gorlois looked the stranger up and down, and raised his eyebrow. “Straight to the end of Second Street, the big house on the right. Can’t miss it, Mister -?”

“Ambrose. Doctor Ambrose, actually. I’ve come to tutor young Arthur.” Ambrose offered his right hand, dusty from the road but softer than any working man’s hand had any right to be.

Gorlois shook it, and tried not to judge this city doctor too harshly at first sight. The wild lands changed a man, and not even this tiny pocket of civilization of Uther’s could keep out the worst of it. “Is that a medical doctor, then, son?” Gorlois asked.

“Yes, sir, it is. Doctor of Letters, too, but I expect I’ll be doing double duty out here. Have you got a doctor?”

Gorlois chuckled. “Old Gaius at the apothecary is the closest we’ve come since Doc Taleson got killed. Hope you last longer.”

The young man may have paled a bit at that, but the sun was bright in Gorlois eyes, so bright it gave the doctor’s eyes a brief sheen of gold. Gorlois blinked and turned away. “If Uther is expecting you, you’d best get on,” he said, and Ambrose laughingly agreed and started walking again.

Gorlois paused after just a few steps, and turned his head. “Hey, Doc!”

Ambrose turned on his heel to look back.

Gorlois tipped his hat back with two fingers. “Welcome to Camelot.”


End file.
